As her friend drew back, Lucy grasped her hand and squeezed it. “Oh, Salena, it’s so good to see you. Whatever are you doing here?”
“I’ve been keeping your aunt company while we waited for you to return. Good heavens, Lucy, where have you been? We’ve all been so very worried about you. All of London thinks you’ve been kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped! By who?”
“The marquis.”
“Garrick? Good gracious,” Lucy protested. “Wherever did they get such a silly notion?”
“I never thought such a thing,” Salena was quick to point out. “Nor did your aunt, not really. ‘Twas more believable that you’d kidnapped him.” She looked at Garrick, a smile spreading across her face. “My lord, ‘tis good to see you again.”
Garrick nodded. “Your Grace.”
“Salena,” Lucy said in amusement, “really. I would never kid—”
“So you’ve decided to return?”
Lucy stiffened. There was no mistaking that voice, nor the displeasure in it. She peeked toward the landing above and nearly groaned. Her aunt glared down at them like a curate on Easter morning. “Aunt Cornelia.”
Grabbing her black skirt, her aunt took a controlled step toward them, the cane she used thumping nearly as loudly as Lucy’s heart as she made her way down the steps. Her mobcap rested slightly off-center—no doubt due to her hasty dressing—and long ribbons of gray hairprotested from beneath it. For just for a moment the burning anger Lucy could see glowing from her eyes faded into joy, but then the anger returned full force.
“Lucy Hartford,” she said sharply. “This had better be good.”
It was. At least Lucy thought it was. Unfortunately her aunt didn’t look suitably impressed. She stared across at them as a magistrate might at an uncooperative witness. “You mean to tell me there was no possible way you could turn around?”
Lucy shrugged, her elbow bumping into Garrick, who sat next to her. “We tried, Auntie, but by the wind—”
“We ran into a storm which made turning back impossible,” Garrick finished. “By the time we’d sailed through it, we decided to continue on.”
Cornelia’s eyes narrowed. “Did it never occur to you, my lord, that my niece and Lady Elizabeth would be ruined by not turning back?”
Beth and Lucy exchanged anxious glances as Garrick answered, “It did.”
“And still you pressed on?”
“We did, my lady. You see, Lucy and I had decided to marry.” That wasn’t quite how it had happened, but Lucy wasn’t about to complain; at last her aunt finally looked at them with something other than displeasure. Now she stared at them in shock.
“Marry!” she gaped, staring between the two as if they’d suddenly announced their intention to sail to
France in a bathing tub. “But you hardly know each other.”
“Time means nothing when you’re in love,” Lucy sighed dreamily.
Her aunt’s eyes widened. “You’re in love?”
Garrick’s expression was unfathomable as he answered, “We are.”
Cornelia grew silent. She looked about to say something, but then her expression closed. “Well, I suppose you are to be congratulated. I must say ‘twill be a relief to get the gel off my hands—”
“Auntie!” Lucy cried.
“Heaven knows that takes care of one problem. Perhaps my niece’s marriage will be enough to save Beth’s reputation, too, though I have my doubts.”
Lucy caught Salena’s amused expression, then darted a glance at Beth, who looked pensive. “Are we terribly ruined, then?” Beth asked in a small voice.
“Terribly,” Cornelia announced sternly. “I don’t suppose there was a married lady on board who could have acted as chaperone?”
“No,” Lucy answered.
“A maid?”
“No,” Lucy said again.
“Anybody?” he aunt said desperately.
“Ravenwood,” Beth moaned. “Dear God, what happens when they catch wind of Ravenwood being aboard?”
“Ravenwood?” Cornelia asked. “The Duke of Ravenwood?”
“Aye,” Garrick murmured.
“Good heavens,” Cornelia said, wilting back in her chair. “What was he doing on board the ship?”
“We took him hostage,” Lucy provided promptly.
“Hostage!” Cornelia trilled, sitting back up again.
“Lucy, please,” Garrick said. “Let me explain.” He turned to her aunt. “We’d only been at sea for a few days when we were attacked by pirates—”
“Pirates!”
Her aunt was dipping up and down like a duck on water, Lucy thought disgruntledly.
“It turned out that the pirates were hired by an agent for the countess,” Garrick continued. “The Duke of Ravenwood.”
“Good heavens.”
“Fortunately, we were able to escape from their clutches, taking Ravenwood as our hostage. Unfortunately, he escaped when we docked in London. We have no idea how, but his escape leaves me with no other choice than to go to Selborne in the hopes of confronting the earl and his countess with what I know. ‘Tis the best I can do after having lost Ravenwood.”
“Ravenwood. That fiend,” Salena shot. “I hope the magistrate catches up with him.”
“As do I,” Lucy affirmed.
“When will you leave, my lord?” Salena asked, shooting Tom, who sat next to her, a glance.
The boy had been awfully quiet from his position upon the settee, Lucy thought. That worried her, for she knew from experience it meant he was plotting something. This time she couldn’t imagine what.
“I shall leave tonight.”
“And I will go along.” Lucy said firmly, pulling her gaze away from Tom.
“Absolutely not,” Garrick said at the same time her aunt said, “No.”
Lucy stared between them, amusement bubbling up inside of her. “Why not?”
“Lucinda Hartford, good heavens, I refuse to let you out of this house until your reputation is somewhat salvaged. Besides, it would be just your luck to get yourself kidnapped before I could marry you off to his lordship.”
Lucy’s smile faded. “But, Aunt—”
“No buts. You are not going with his lordship and that’s final.”
Lucy wanted to protest, but it was glaringly obvious she would get nowhere with her aunt in her present frame of mind. Not only that, but Garrick was acting as if he’d suddenly lost his hearing.
“Very well, Aunt Cornelia,” she said as meekly as she dared, though she had no intention of staying behind. She shot Garrick a glare, which he ignored, then, left with nothing else to do, she got up and crossed to Beth’s side. Her friend looked about as happy as a lead player in a Shakespearean tragedy.
“Don’t worry, Beth,” she whispered, “I’ll see to it that matters are taken care of.”
Beth raised dazed eyes to her. “’Tis what I’m afraid of.”
Lucy heard her aunt snort. She darted her a frown, then patted Beth’s hand.
She was about to turn away when Beth’s words stopped her. “What if I’m forced to marry Ravenwood?”
“Beth, really. No one would force you to do that,” Salena said kindly.
“But if word reaches society that he was on board that ship, we may be forced to wed.”
“Nonsense,” Lucy said earnestly. “We’ll tell people Garrick and I were married aboard the Revenger. No one need ever know the truth.”
“It won’t work, Lucy, and you know it. All anyone has to do is ask a member of the crew. Once you marry Garrick, that only leaves Ravenwood. People will naturally assume the worst, that I was compromised by him, murderer or no.”
Beth looked so glum, Lucy found herself saying, “You can marry Garrick if you like.” She was trying to cheer her up, but it fell terribly flat. Beth looked up at her in horror, then flung herself to her feet and ran from the room.
“He’s not that bad,” Lucy called after her.
“Lucy, really,” her aunt admon
ished when the door had slammed shut. “How could you be so unfeeling? This is a serious matter.”
“But I was only joking, Auntie. Come now, you don’t honestly think she’d be forced to marry Ravenwood, do you?”
“Well, I should hope not. In any event, the sooner you wed his lordship, the better off she’ll be. When do you plan to do so?”
“After we confront the countess,” Garrick announced.
“Why not sooner?” Salena asked.
“We would like to, but we’re afraid Ravenwood will tell the countess of our arrival. When that happens she’llbe quite desperate to get her hands on Tom. Everyone’s life will be in danger then.”
Salena grabbed Tom’s hand, her face having paled. She darted the boy a tentative smile, then said, “Yes. Of course, you’re correct. Very well, then. I suppose there’s not much else to do but wait.”
Garrick nodded, then got up and walked over to Lucy. “Do you promise to stay here?”
Lucy sneaked a glance at her aunt’s frowning countenance, then smiled up at him mischievously. “And if I do not promise?”
“Then I shall lock you in your room.”
She laughed softly, completely oblivious to the room’s other occupants. “A dire threat indeed. I shall have to consider this carefully.”
He grabbed her hand, his expression turning serious. “Lucy, please. Stay here with your aunt. ‘Twill be much safer.”
Lucy firmly shoved aside the sense of guilt which assailed her as she said, “I promise.” Clenching her hand behind her back and crossing her fingers, and beneath her slippers, her toes.
“Promise also that you will not leave before me.”
She made her expression was as innocent as possible and said, “I promise.”
He searched her eyes carefully and whatever it was he saw must have satisfied him, for he chucked her on the chin and said, “Thank you.”
24
So she left with Garrick. Or at least that was the plan, though escaping from the house had turned out to be much more difficult than expected. Her aunt had waylaid her after dinner, determined to discover if she really wanted to marry Garrick or not. It had taken her nearly an hour to convince her, an hour that ticked away in Lucy’s mind like the hands of a clock.
Thank God she’d finally managed to escape, though she could have sworn her aunt kept her there on purpose, which was why she had gone to the carriage house immediately. She hadn’t even bothered to change out of her peach gown, merely grabbed a lantern and set off.
She was grateful for that lantern when she opened the door of the carriage house, her aunt’s elegant landau residing like a giant statue in the center of the aisle. She lifted the light higher. One of the horses nickered softly when it spied her cloaked form.
“Shhh.” She raised her finger to her lips, then rolledher eyes and mentally chastised herself. As if the horse would understand.
Barn dust and bits of straw rose up from beneath her slippered feet as she walked toward the back of the carriage, and more important, to the giant wicker basket strapped to it. The basket was huge, large enough to conceal her small form, though she wasn’t looking forward to feeling like a chicken on its way to market during the ride to Selborne Manor.
One must do what one must do, she reminded herself, releasing a sigh of resignation as she hooked her lantern on the rusted nail somebody had pounded into a post. She then blew out the flame. Immediately, darkness enshrouded her like a cloying, black blanket and despite the wool cloak she wore, she shivered.
It was chilly out tonight, though she’d wager the reason her blood ran so cold was nerves. She’d best hurry. According to her calculations, John Coachman wouldn’t be hooking up the horses for at least another half hour, but she wanted to be well settled before then.
Feeling her way along, she headed toward what she hoped was the wicker basket, but turned out to be a multispoked wheel. As luck would have it, her slippered foot sailed right in between the slats and rammed into the hub with a thud.
“Bloody hell,” she cursed, clutching the wounded limb and hopping up and down. When the pain had subsided, she gingerly set her foot down, then limped toward the back of the coach. She felt like a blind man as she ran her hands along the brougham’s side, sighing when she found the wicker basket. She moved herhands toward the latch, then opened the lid. Immediately, the smell of sweaty horse enveloped her, which was to be expected since the basket was used to hold horse blankets. Lucy ignored the violent urge to sneeze and gingerly placed a foot inside.
“Argh, me jewels!” a voice screeched.
Lucy jumped, so startled she fell backward. Her breath left her in a rush as her rear collided with the ground. For a moment she just sat there, mentally assessing if she’d broken anything. She could smell a cloud of stable dust rise up around her, feel it land on her cheeks and nose.
A groan.
“Tom?” she asked when she found her voice.
The boy released another moan. Lucy gingerly rose to her feet, placing her hands on her hips, not that the child could see it. “Good heavens, Thomas Tee, whatever are you doing in there?”
“Gettin’ me beauty sleep,” he grumbled. “Whadda ya thinks I’m doin’ ‘ere?”
Lucy frowned. “Well, you can’t go along.”
“Gonna tell on me?” he mumbled testily. “’Ave a fine time explain’ ‘ow ya come across me ‘iding in ‘ere, you would.”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed. He had a point, the little beast. She was just about to threaten him with taking Prinny away when the latch on the carriage-house door rattled. Lucy stiffened. Goodness, that couldn’t be John Coachman. But it was. Lucy could hear his obnoxiously cheerful whistle as let himself in.
“Move aside,” she whispered as she leapt toward the rear of the coach.
“Ain’t no room.”
“Move now or we’re both lost.”
Light spilled in through the doorway. She had a glimpse of Tom’s irritated face just before she grabbed her skirts and shoved herself down next to him. “Ouch,” he grumbled as she hurriedly closed the lid; the wicker creaked in protest, its ribbed edges hemming her in like a whalebone corset. Tom shifted, his elbow jutting into her side. She cursed him silently, then jumped at the sound of the wide double doors being pulled open. John was hooking up the carriage.
The half moon cast long shadows over the Selborne estate, bright enough to see by, and bright enough to make out the familiar contours of the landscape. Emotions assailed Garrick as he stared at the home—self-loathing, fear, anger—emotions he struggled to seal behind the wall he’d built around his heart, a wall which crumpled more and more each day.
Damn Lucy’s aunt and her probing questions.
The lady had been relentless this afternoon, and her final words were that she would speak to her niece before putting her final seal of approval on their marriage. But he would marry Lucy in Scotland if need be, marry her and cherish every precious moment he had left with her.
The carriage shifted, bringing Garrick back to the present. He had a job to do, he reminded himself. One last job. He owed Lucy that much.
There was no light shining through the windows of the estate, which was to be expected given the latenessof the hour. Now all he had to do was find a way inside and be lucky enough to locate the papers he sought.
For once, luck seemed to be on his side, for it wasn’t long before he discovered a paneled glass door left ajar. Someone must have forgotten to shut it after visiting the small garden located outside. Garrick hardly dared believe his good fortune as he cupped his hands and peered through the glass. Nothing. Just blackness. He straightened, then gently pulled on the brass handle, watching his reflected shadow as he pulled open the door.
The room was even darker inside. He paused a moment to let his eyes adjust, the inside walls materializing slowly before him: long shelves that reached nearly two stories high, a scattering of furniture, most noticeably a massive desk. It smelled musty, an odor that was at onc
e familiar. Books. A great many of them, if Garrick didn’t miss his guess. He’d found the library, or perhaps the earl’s study.
Garrick almost smiled. Instead, he paused a moment to ensure there were no sounds coming from outside the room, most especially footsteps. There was nothing but the odd stillness that settled around a house during the night. He permitted himself a small smile. His plan was simple: confront the earl and the countess with the letter still in his possession and hope to God the earl would believe him. Would it work? He had no idea if God still listened to his prayers, but he hoped he would. Hoped for Lucy’s sake.
By now his eyes had adjusted enough for him to make out everything but the darker recesses of theroom. Feeling more and more confident, he strode forward.
He’d only taken three steps when the hiss of a lucifer flared, the sudden brightness momentarily blinding him.
“Welcome, Garrick.”
Garrick blinked to dispel the bright spots, but he didn’t need his vision to know who was in the room with him, for the voice had been all too familiar. It was Lucien St. Aubyn, Duke of Ravenwood, aiming a pistol at him.
Lucy peeked out the top of the basket, the evening sky seeming almost bright after the total blackness of her confines.
“Are we there?”
“Yes, Tom, we are.”
She pushed herself to her feet and tried not to groan. Her neck felt as if she’d slept with her head on backward and her back felt as bowed as an old crone’s. Forcing herself to straighten, she darted a glance around her. John was nowhere in sight. She wondered at that for a moment, then gingerly stepped down. Tom dropped down next to her.
“Where’s the coachman?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know. Perhaps inside the coach?”
“Nah, we’d a ‘eard ‘im enter. Probably ‘e went ta empty ‘is pisser or somethin’.”
“Tom,” Lucy scolded.
The boy shrugged, and even in the moonlight Lucy could see the mischief shining from his eyes.
“A man’s gotta pee.”
She ignored him and pulled the hood of her cloak up around her face. “You stay here.”
My Fallen Angel Page 21
